Quote du Jour

"Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance."

Quoted from the end of a round-robin email posted on my friend, Missy's page: http://cherokeemis.multiply.com/journal/item/81

Snow in Driveway Photo I promised some of you

You know it's a small world, when Cherei can throw an internet snowball at me from Texas, and it lands smack in my driveway!

I am 5 ft 6-1/2 inches, wearing about 2 inch heels on my boots ... so how high is this snow bank?  The large white blotches in front of the camera are the snow falling when my neighbor took the picture for me last night.

Happy Christmas Eve to all of you.  This is going to be a busy day.  I got up early, and I think I have answered all your comments from my last blog.  (It took me about 3 hours!  Oh my!  But you are ALL worth it.)

Blessings to each of you.  E you later, Rani

All Over the Place

The people I admire the most on Multiply are so "out there."  Each of you is different from me, and yet each of you hold an attraction to my soul.

It's a blog I read tonight that made me sad.  This one: http://lindao6.multiply.com/journal/item/523/We_Need_Each_Other._._._

Because we ought to be connected, I want to be connected, I imagine myself connected, maybe I am connected, but I don't FEEL connected.

And some of you feel smothered by your connectedness.

And I'm a great listener, advice-giver, someone who knows how to find "the quiet center."  And yet, there is not a soul that I would trust with mine.  Not really.  ...

That was a great blog on Linda's page, and I really like what I know of Linda, and I wanted to leave a comment.  But I was too dang sad.  Because my roots don't seem to intertwine, although I try to tangle them.  They've just been chopped too many times!

My parents moved us around every time I got my bearings when I was growing up.

The first man I married was never contented with a blasted thing in life, and he kept changing everything constantly.  On top of which, he rather wanted to be a hermit.

Church connections are supposed to be good ones, but to really be connected at a particular congregation (any of them) you're supposed to bad-mouth the ones that aren't your kind.  I worship, and have raised my youngest son, where the liturgy and the sermons do me the most good.  And he's connected there, having gone to parochial school there "all his life," but I don't really fit.

I'm a church secretary at a different kind of church.  I don't want to worship there.  They don't meet my deepest needs as "my own" church does.  But they are "inclusive" almost to a fault, and I need that.

The friends I've chosen on Multiply (and those who've chosen me) are extremely diverse, from down-home Baptist to Catholic to Pagan or Agnostic ... and I guess that if truth be told, I am a little bit of all those things myself.  (I'm a Lutheran, if you want to know -- Missouri Synod -- with a few unfortunate Baptist and Jewish tendencies, and the occasional respectful irreverence and willingness to dance at the winter solstice.)

Some of my friends are way more sensual than I'd ever care to be.  Some are searching for meaning in life, some are just trying to hold their grip, and some think they've got it all figured out.  Some could care less.

The friends here that I admire most are those who have an opinion -- their own point of view.  Whether they bitch about their mother-in-law, or gripe about bad weather, or try to make everything funny, or just tool around posting glitter graphics, or try to capture the most exquisite moment in words or photography.  Whether they flaunt their intelligence, or only their silliness.

I am a little bit like all of you ... and nothing like any of you.  And I do not share myself completely with anyone but God.  So if He does not exist, then apparently I do not share myself completely with anyone but myself.

"My own counsel will I keep." -- Yoda, from one of the Star Wars movies.

But damn, I sure do wish I really felt as connected, rooted, and intertwined, as my head believes we all are.  Because in my thought life, with my reason, from my world-view, I am convinced of the truth of the blog that set me tip-toeing through melancholy tonight.  I honestly think that, believe it or not, even when we don't speak the same language, we are ALL connected, in the eternal sense of things.

There.  That's as close to revealing as I am able to be.  For what it's worth.

'Nother One Joke du Jour

Dar's picture in my comment box inspired me to search high and low for this one my cousin emailed to me a few years ago.

Are you ready, Dar?  (Maybe you have seen this before ... but your shoveling photo made me think of this one.)

It is called "If Men Vacuumed"

 

 

And since the topic is snow, this is another one the same cousin sent.  I've posted this here before, I think, but it bears repeating:

This one is called, "Happy Hour in Michigan":

 

Joke du Jour

Looking for something else in old emails from one of my cousins, I found this just now:

A 7 year old and a 4 year old are upstairs in their bedroom.

"You know what?" says the 7 year old, "I think it's about time we started swearing."

The 4 year old nods his head in approval.

"When we go downstairs for breakfast I'm gonna swear first, then you swear after me, ok?"

"Ok" the 4 year old agrees with enthusiasm.

The mother walks into the kitchen and asks the 7 year old what he wants for breakfast.

"Oh, S**t mum, I guess I'll have some Coco Pops".

WHACK!! He flew out of his chair, tumbled across the kitchen floor, got up, and ran upstairs crying his eyes out.

She looked at the 4 year old and asked with a stern voice, "And what do YOU want for breakfast, young man?

"I don't know," he blubbers, "but it won't be f**king Coco Pops".

C'est le soule chose que je peux faire

The woman in the white Ford van
Is aching for a song ...
She turns on a country station,
But the ones they play are wrong.
She flips to a gospel station --
A commercial is on the air.
She parks the van,
Walks to the back,
And kneels herself in prayer.

She wants pain set to music,

Deliverance set to rhyme,

The questions, without answers, rolling 'round time after time.

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved

Je Revien Tristesse

Another language perhaps,
But one that isn't mine,
Could with joy express the grief
Of the lands I leave behind;
Could with peace express the pain
Of the days and prayers and tears
That within this shell of clay
Laugh and boldly face the years;
Of Tomorrow when it comes
Oh, it has no power on me!
I am beaten, I am worn,
I am ended, I am free.
I'm created,
I create,
I live on eternally;
I am dying, I will die,
It's a bitter birth indeed!
As in labour for a child
As in gasping in a dream
Like a drowning man needs water do I need this year I've seen!
Twirl around and face tomorrow
Take away what wasn't mine
Am I healed and understanding?
If you ask, I'll say I'm fine
Oh, this language cannot tell you
(There's a word, I'm sure, Some Where)
... Might be "man" It might be "woman"
But for God's sake! It's a prayer.
Pack my boxes. I am moving.
Will not cry. I cannot stay.
Won't wear pain upon my shoulder,
I will leave it packed away.
When you see that I am hopeful
It won't be a lie you see --
For both sides of death and living are compatible in me.
And the love that I can give you
Won't begrudge your error or pain;
For a sword has pierced my own heart,
Yet I live, to breed again.

 

-- Poem by Rani Kaye, all rights reserved